Douchie Awards

Sadly, because your humble narrator is a lazy-ass slacker, we didn’t get to do the Douchie Awards this year.

But yeoman Vin Diesel refused to go gently into that good night, and submits the following:

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Celebrity Douchebag Couple 2013

A slow year for celebrity hookups. Of course Bag Virus Patient Zero, Hall of Fame All Star Richard Grieco made a splash with incredible poo-like art, but alas, no Bleeth on his arm. Mylie, Taylor , Katy, Kim all made splashes with their incredible lack of taste in Alphas.

On the sports side, asshat and NHL pest Dion Phaneuf hooked up with a chick that every dick (Yes I’m looking at you Sean Avery) cheap shotting , tough guy wannabe pro hockey player has seemed to have bedded: the once spectacular, but hopelessly Bleethed out Elisha Cuthbert.

Cable reality shows poured out the nimrod parade in a never ending battle to disgust us and TMZ continued to be the most annoying claptrap our sweet flat screens display in digital full color 7.1 Dolby surround sound. However, I await the breaking of the story of the inevitable and comforting news of Justin Bieber’s Malibu cliffside fatal car crash like a dog hearing the can opener, head tilt and all.

Let’s face facts folks, no one is a bigger moron and douchebag than Ryan Lochte. His reality TV showed featured the most vacuous, idiotic brainwork of perhaps the most clueless human alive. Imagine my delight when word of his hookup with fellow Mensa, Carmen Electra was sporned.

Ryan is all that’s wrong with celebrity in these modern times. Carmen is a toxic throwback to the days of silicon jigglies equating to interesting matters of dire concern , the wastoid ’90’s. Here’s a toast to this year’s winner/losers : Ryan, may you rip an ab muscle flexing in a mirror and Carmen, someday, maybe after shower #1,000,000 , you may finally rid yourself of the stench of Dennis Rodman’s groin cheese. CHEERS!

In fact, let’s just get the 2013 Douchies out of the way right now since I know it’s not going to happen this year (Lesson for all you single guys out there, this is what having kids will do to you. Shattered dreams and ruined aspirations clouded by the instinctual urge to devote your entire existence caring for a diseased little human grub that pukes on you, doesn’t know how to sh!t in a toilet, and once it learns how to do so will tell you to go f@#k yourself and leave home, only to return with a little sh!t grub of its own that you’ll be taking care of half the time because “I gotta go to work and Rob’s being a dick and f@#king some skank so I’m not letting him have the little brat this week”, and will still stick your aging ass in some sh!t-cheap old-folks home because they don’t feel like wiping your ass once you can’t control your bowels anymore, so you’re left to die in a puddle of your own piss and septic bed sores while they argue with their siblings about who gets your TV).

There you go. See you all again next year for the 2014 Douchies, which will consist of no entries, no finalists, and definitely no amusing quips in the comments section. Just a couple of us old diehards refusing to let the poor old site die an honorable death as we hark back to the “good old days” of 2008-2010, when the Samurai Scrote thread topped 10,000… when Sergeant Scrote Stain would grace us with his witty observations and one liners… when Dicy showed us a picture of her cotton panty clad ass… when Medusa DIDN’T show us a picture of her ass… and when the peeing in horses jokes were still funny.

I’m going to bed, f@#k you all.

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All accurate. And scathing in all the proper ways. Good work J.D.

HCwDB may not be the arbiter of cultural influence that it once was. But we carry on my wayward sons (and daughters).

And on the bright side, there’s this. The war continues. I may not do the Douchie Awards this year because I’m a lazy slacker. But the mock will continue. Oh yes.

Be sure to peruse some of these awards, especially the ones written by the regs, as there’s some fine mock in there.

And for our hallowed Hall of Mock let us welcome the following Class of 2012:

douche equis

Capt. James T. Douche

Charles Nelson Douchely

THEONETRUEDOUCHE

Merle Baggard

ehcuodouche

Franklyn DealorNo Doucheifelt

Charles Douchewin

FredN.

Ol’ Dirty Douchebag

Congrats to you all for services rendered in the art of douche mocking and hott lusting. There were many more on the list of finalists, so you should all toast your induction with a sip of the ole’ Night Train via URC.

Lets also welcome Tiny Dancer Maria to our hallowed Hall of Hott.

And if you appreciated the 2012 Douchies, help support the site by checking out, and buying, some cool shit on Amazon. You don’t have to buy what I link to, just click through the link and a bit of what you end up buying (anything on Amazon) will pay for the costs of running the site.

As many of you know, HCwDB’s crucial role in transforming understandings of art by reclaiming the image through a self-reflexive, post-postmodern rubric will eventually be acknowledged by the academic and literary canon. This will culminate with a triumphant art show at the Guggenheim Museum in 2023.

As a result, I am preparing my yearly collections well in advance of this milestone in post-classical digital art.

By naming each piece of reclaimed imagery as art, I am codifying the destabilization of the signifier in the age of digital reclamation.

The great Et tu douche? hands out the award for the lurking mocker of all things douche:

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For the 2nd year in a row I’m pleased to present to this esteemed audience the John Largeman award for best person, persons or inanimate object in the background. JL, as I refer to him, burst onto to the scene and has since been revered, adulated and an inspiration for all of us in the never-ending mock of DBaggery. So with out further ado I give you the winner of the 2012 John Largeman award.

Wise Black Man Howlin’ Cat, WBMHC follows in the footsteps of JL cause he is as equally disgusted to witness such unnecessary baggery. Clubbaggery in this case. On this ill fated evening all WBMHC wanted to do was don some of his finery, slip on his gators, get out of the house and head out on the town to enjoy a few adult beverages, see what he could get himself into maybe run into some of his old running buddies. WBMHC, a responsible man, hadn’t been out in awhile as he had more pressing business to attend to such as life, family and work. Back in the day he and his boys would head out looking natty from head to toe to enjoy some nightlife, a few cocktails and maybe some good music. Back then it was referred to as a Club, not Da Club, where, depending you might catch a band or a DJ who spun actual vinyl. Seeing as he hadn’t been out in years he was not prepared for the travesty that befell him. Bottle service, autotune voiced music being played via an iPad, and guys wearing garish tee shirts in lieu of actually dressing up or in this case Dbag with pursed lips sporting a laminate signifying supposed VIP status. While he laughed at punks like this what really got him was a hot, young, succulent, alabaster breasted woman such as Adriana being attracted to such nonsense. Had things really changed this much? He thought. Yes it has WBMHC, yes it has and you’re not alone in thinking so. If it’s any consolation WBMHC your obvious look of disgust is felt by us all and for that you have earned the 2012 John Largeman award.

Coming in a close 2nd is Chet Largeman, Photobomber extraordinaire, and contortionist at the sideshow tent for whatever festival this was.

3rd place I give you Dim Nabors, Poor Dim, it’s bad enough he has some elephant man type growth on his forehead, now he has to witness shirtless clubbaggery. At least he has a soul mate in despair further down the bar in pallid Anya.

Dammit, Boss stole my thunder by posting this photo Saturday under the possibly twinkie-withdrawal induced title of “Most Impending Sign of Nuclear Scrotacalypse”, but no matter. This only reinforces my thesis, like the wholesome fiber and bran of Justice.

In the primordial con-groo-ation that is douchethink, bigger is better. This is of course why ‘bags must be repeatedly reminded and retrained after each lunch break running the till at their Arby’s gig that although a nickel is bigger, a dime is more valuable.

If a C-cup is good because it gets attention, well hot damn it stands to reason that a pornesque DDD is double-plus-good. Right? If pleasingly firm biceps are desirable, then hormone-swollen limbs that thwart wiping one’s anus without audible grunts is The Bomb.

As long as douchebags lust for the “TIT” in “Titillation and bleethes pine for the “COCK” in “Peacocking” then these unholy couplings of amplified freakish meat-sacs will continue…these lost souls will endeavor on past midnight to the baleful throb of club beats to make and break sexual alliances like lost socks tumbling in the Coin-Op Dryer of Oblivion ensconced in the vast Laundramat of Despair and Poo. This confluence of bulbous external sex organs and swole beach muscles can be evinced writhing in sweaty club hook-ups in pee-stink cave-echo-sultry bathrooms; lolling teats, chemically distended tumescent abs and Raisinette™ testes lubed by hair gel and Preparation H, emitting an unholy balloon-squeak symphony like Satan’s Crickets in the Bait Shop of Hell.

And they do this not only shamelessly, but proudly; wagging their yogurt hoses and flapping their silicone fortified dairy bastions at polite society like so many lewd KY-encrusted party favors…because their cartoonishly exaggerated flesh, good for maybe another decade or so, is their currency and worth. So reasons their room-temp IQ narcissist minds.

They simply do not comprehend that they are the Nickels. And just like Weekend Hulk here at his weekday Arby’s register…it is up to society to make change.

The Yellowtail Douchie Award, also known as The Oldbag, goes to the creepiest old scrote macking on the young hotts of the year.

This award invariably produces its share of heroism and anti-douche applause. For most people, simply witnessing any old geezer keeping his saggy sack in the game and getting his mack on in his senior years is worthy of applause and appreciation.